ORLANDO

Hang there on this tree, you verse of my poetry, as a witness for my love.  And you, goddess Diana, queen of the night: with your virginal eye from your pale home in the moon above, survey your huntress Rosalind, whose name rules my whole life. Oh, Rosalind, these trees will be my books, and I'll write down my thoughts in their bark. That way, everyone who looks around in this forest will see your excellence described everywhere. Run, run, Orlando, and on every tree carve verses about the beautiful, the chaste, the indescribable Rosalind.

CORIN

And how do you like this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

TOUCHSTONE

Truly, shepherd, in itself it is a good life. But considering that it's a shepherd's life, it's worthless. In that it's solitary, I like it very well. But since it's lonely, it's a terrible life. Because it's in the fields, it pleases me greatly. But because it isn't in the court, it's boring. Because it is a simple life, it suits my nature well. But as there is no plenty in it, it goes against my taste. Are you any kind of philosopher, shepherd?

CORIN

Only in the fact that I know that the sicker you get, the worse you feel. And that if you lack money, a job, and contentment, then you are without three good friends. And that rain is wet and fire is burning; and that good grass makes fat sheep; and that the main cause of night is the lack of sun; and that he who isn't witty by nature or education can complain that he comes from dull parents or lacked a good upbringing.

TOUCHSTONE

Then you are a natural philosopher. Were you ever at the court, shepherd?

CORIN

Honestly, no.

TOUCHSTONE

Then you are damned.

CORIN

I hope not.

TOUCHSTONE

Truly, you are damned, like an egg cooked only on one side.

CORIN

Just because I've never been at court? Explain your reasoning.

TOUCHSTONE

Why, if you were never at court, then you never saw good manners. And so your own manners must be wicked, and wickedness is a sin, and sin is damnation. You are in a perilous state, shepherd.

CORIN

Not at all, Touchstone. What passes for good manners at the court looks just as ridiculous in the country as country behavior is so mockable at the court. You told me that you don't greet each other at the court without kissing your hands. If courtiers were shepherds, that kind of courtesy would be vulgar.

TOUCHSTONE

Give me proof, briefly. Come, give me an example.

CORIN

Why, because we shepherds are always handling our sheep, and their fleece is greasy, you know.

TOUCHSTONE

What, don't courtiers' hands sweat? And isn't the grease of a sheep as good as the sweat of a man? Poor example, poor. Give me better proof, I say. Come on.

CORIN

Besides, our hands are calloused.

TOUCHSTONE

Then your lips will feel them even sooner. Come on, a more sound example.

CORIN

And they are often covered with tar from treating the wounds of our sheep. And would you have us kiss tar? Courtiers' hands are expensively perfumed.

TOUCHSTONE

You most shallow man. Indeed, you are like rotting flesh in the middle of a good steak. Learn from those wiser than you, and consider: the perfume used by courtiers—civet—is filthier than tar, as it is made from the unclean secretions of a cat. Improve your proof, shepherd.

CORIN

Your wit is too courtly for me. I'll rest my case.

TOUCHSTONE

You'll rest while still damned? God help you, you foolish man. I hope that God does some surgery on you; you are sick.

CORIN

Sir, I am a true and simple laborer. I earn what I eat and wear; hate no man; envy no man's happiness; am glad of others' good fortune; am resigned to my own bad luck; and the greatest source of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs feed.

TOUCHSTONE

That's another sin you weren't aware of: bringing ewes and rams together and making a living by their copulation. You play the pimp for the year-old ewe, betraying her by forcing her to mate with a crooked-headed, horny old ram. That's totally outside the realm of acceptable pairings. If you're not damned for this, it must mean that the devil wants no shepherds in hell. I can't see how else you could escape.

CORIN

Here comes young Master Ganymede.

ROSALIND

[Reading] "From the east to the west Indies,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth is carried by the wind,
Through all the world it bears the name Rosalind.
All the brightest, most beautiful paintings
Are black compared to Rosalind.
Don't think of any beauty
But the beauty of Rosalind."

TOUCHSTONE

I could rhyme like that for eight years straight, taking breaks only to eat and sleep. The verses plod on monotonously like dairy women marching off to the market.

ROSALIND

That's enough, fool.

TOUCHSTONE

Here's a taste: If a buck should need a hind, let him seek out Rosalind. If a cat should look for a mate in kind, certainly also will Rosalind. Winter garments must be lined, and so must skinny Rosalind. Those who harvest must sheaf and bind, then throw on the market cart ripe Rosalind. The sweetest nut has the sourest rind, and such a nut is Rosalind. He who the sweetest rose will find, will also find love's thorn, and Rosalind. This is the way those verses gallop unevenly along. Why infect yourself by listening to them?

ROSALIND

Quiet, you dull fool. I found them attached a tree.

TOUCHSTONE

Honestly, that tree yields rotten fruit.

ROSALIND

I'll graft you onto that tree, which will be grafting it with a medlar. The fruit the tree bears will then be the earliest ripe fruit in the country, for you'll be rotten before you're half-ripe, which is the way medlars should be.

TOUCHSTONE

You've had your say now, but let the forest judge whether your words are wise or not.

ROSALIND

Quiet. Here comes my cousin, reading something. Step aside.

CELIA

[Reading]
Why should this place be a desert?
Because it is uninhabited? No.
I'll hang poems on every tree
that will portray the comments of a city.
Some will be on how brief life is—
Which man spends in wandering pilgrimage—
So that the width of an open hand
contains his entire lifetime.
Some will be about broken promises
Between the souls of friends.
But on the most beautiful branches,
Or at the end of every sentence,
I'll write "Rosalinda,"
Teaching everyone who can read to know
That the purest essence of every spirit
Has been contained within this one person.
Heaven commanded Nature
To fill her one body
With all the graces usually spread through all women.
Nature then distilled together
Helen of Troy's beautiful face, without her treacherous heart,
Cleopatra's majesty,
The best parts of Atalanta,
And solemn Lucretia's modesty.
In this way Rosalind was composed of many parts—
By the decree of heaven—
That of the many faces, eyes, and hearts,
She might have only the most prized features of all.
Heaven wanted her to have these gifts,
And wanted me to live and die as her slave.

ROSALIND

Oh, most noble Jupiter, what a tedious sermon of love you have been wearying your congregation with! You should have warned them, "Have patience, good people."

CELIA

What now? Move back, my friends. 

[To CORIN] Shepherd, go off a little ways. 

[To TOUCHSTONE] Go with him, sir.

TOUCHSTONE

Come, shepherd. Let us make an honorable retreat, though not like an army with its equipment, but rather like a shepherd with his pouch and what he keeps in it.

CELIA

Did you hear those verses?

ROSALIND

Oh yes, I heard them all, and more too—for some of the lines had more feet in them than the verses could bear.

CELIA

That's no matter. The feet can bear the verses.

ROSALIND

Yes, but the feet were lame and couldn't carry themselves without the verses, and therefore stood badly within the verse.

CELIA

But did you hear all that without wondering why your name should be written and hung upon all these trees?

ROSALIND

I was almost through with my time of wonder when you arrived, for look here what I found on a palm tree. I haven't been rhymed about this since my past life as an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

CELIA

Do you know who has written these?

ROSALIND

Is it a man?

CELIA

A man who has a chain, which you once wore, hanging around his neck. Do you blush?

ROSALIND

Please, who is he?

CELIA

Oh, Lord, Lord. It may be hard to bring two friends together, but even mountains can be moved together by earthquakes.

ROSALIND

No, who is it?

CELIA

Is it possible?

ROSALIND

Please, I'm begging you now most sincerely, tell me who it is.

CELIA

Oh this is wonderful, wonderful, and most wondrously wonderful, and another wonderful, and after that, wonderful beyond measure!

ROSALIND

Good grief, do you think that because I am dressed like a man, I also have a man's patience? One more second of delay is as endless to me as a journey exploring the South Seas. Please, tell me who it is quickly, and speak fast. I wish you could stammer this hidden man out of your mouth like wine flowing from a narrow-necked bottle—either too much at once, or none at all. I beg you, take the cork out of your mouth, that I might drink up your news.

CELIA

So that you could then put a man in your belly.

ROSALIND

Is he a real, flesh-and-blood man? What kind of man is he? Is he enough of a man to wear a hat on his head and grow a beard on his chin?

CELIA

No, he has only a little beard.

ROSALIND

Well, God will send him a bigger beard, if the man is thankful. I'll wait for his beard to grow, if you will stop delaying in telling me what chin that beard grows on.

CELIA

It is young Orlando, who conquered both the wrestler and your heart in the same moment.

ROSALIND

No—curse you if you're mocking me. Speak seriously and truthfully.

CELIA

I promise, cousin, it's him.

ROSALIND

Orlando?

CELIA

Orlando.

ROSALIND

Oh no, what will I do with my man's outfit? What did he do when you saw him? What did he say? How did he look? What did he wear? What brings him here? Did he ask for me? Where is he staying? How did he say goodbye to you? And when will you see him again? Answer me in one word.

CELIA

You must lend me a giant's mouth first, as such a word would be too big for any mouth these days. To say "yes" and "no" to these questions is harder than answering the questions of a catechism.

ROSALIND

But does he know that I am here in this forest and dressed like a man? Does he look as healthy as he did the day he wrestled?

CELIA

It's easier to count dust particles than to answer a lover's many questions. But have a taste of my story, and add sauce to it by paying attention. I found Orlando under a tree, like a dropped acorn.

ROSALIND

The oak is truly Jove's tree, as it drops such divine fruit.

CELIA

Let me speak, good madam.

ROSALIND

Continue.

CELIA

There he lay, stretched out like a wounded knight.

ROSALIND

Though it would be sad to see such a sight, he must have made even the ground beneath him look better.

CELIA

Tell your tongue to halt, please. It's leaping around out of turn. He was dressed like a hunter.

ROSALIND

Oh, how ominous! He comes to kill my heart.

CELIA

I would like to sing my song solo. You throw me off key.

ROSALIND

Don't you know that I am a woman? When I think, I must speak. Now go on, sweet one.

CELIA

You've made me forget the tune. But quiet, isn't he coming here now?

ROSALIND

It's him. Let's sneak away and watch him.

JAQUES

I thank you for your company. But, really, I would just as soon be alone.

ORLANDO

And the same with me. But still, for appearances' sake, I'll thank you also for your company.

JAQUES

God be with you. Let's meet as infrequently as we can.

ORLANDO

I too hope that we can be better strangers.

JAQUES

Please don't wound any more trees by carving love poems in their bark.

ORLANDO

Please don't wound any more of my verses by reading them so badly.

JAQUES

Your love's name is Rosalind?

ORLANDO

Yes, that's right.

JAQUES

I do not like her name.

ORLANDO

No one thought about pleasing you when she was named.

JAQUES

How tall is she?

ORLANDO

Just as tall as my heart.

jaques

You are full of pretty answers. Are you friends with goldsmith's wives from whom you've stolen their rings, memorizing the love mottoes engraved on them? 

ORLANDO

No, but I can answer you with the stock sayings of painted wall hangings, which is where you must have learned all these questions you're asking.

JAQUES

You have a fast wit. It seems as quick as Atalanta's feet. Will you sit down with me? Together we can complain about our mistress—the world—and all our misery.

ORLANDO

I won't blame any living thing in this world except myself, whose faults I know best.

JAQUES

Your worst fault is being in love.

ORLANDO

It's a fault I wouldn't trade for your best virtue. I'm tired of you.

JAQUES

I swear, I was looking for a fool when I found you, and I seem to have been successful.

ORLANDO

Your fool drowned in the brook. Just look in, and you'll see him.

JAQUES

There I will only see myself.

ORLANDO

Who must then be either a fool or a nothing.

JAQUES

I won't waste my time with you any more. Farewell, good Mister Love.

ORLANDO

I am glad to see you leave. Farewell, good Mister Gloom.

ROSALIND

[To CELIA so that only she can hear] I will speak to him as if I'm an insolent servant, and in that disguise I can trick him. 

[To ORLANDO] Can you hear me, forest-dweller?

ORLANDO

Very well. What do you want?

ROSALIND

[As Ganymede] Please, what time does the clock say?

ORLANDO

You should ask me what time of day it is instead. There's no clock in the forest.

ROSALIND

Then there is no true lover in the forest either, for they are as regular as a clock— their sighing every minute and groaning every hour would easily mark the lazy progress of time.

ORLANDO

Why do you say the "lazy progress" and not the "swift progress" of time? Wouldn't that have been just as accurate?

ROSALIND

By no means, sir. Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls with, who time trots with, who time gallops with, and who time stands still for.

ORLANDO

Please, who does time trot with?

ROSALIND

Well, it trots painfully for a young maid between her engagement and the day she gets married. This time period might be only seven days, but time's pace is so torturous that it seems like seven years.

ORLANDO

And who does time stroll with?

ROSALIND

With a priest who doesn't know Latin and a rich man who doesn't have gout—for the one sleeps easily because he can't stay up late studying, and the other lives merrily because he isn't in pain. One lacks the burden of hard, exhausting study, and the other doesn't have the burden of heavy, tedious poverty. Time ambles along for both of these.

ORLANDO

And who does it gallop with?

ROSALIND

With a thief on his way to the gallows. He walks as slowly as he possibly can, but he still gets there too soon.

ORLANDO

And who does time stand still for?

ROSALIND

For lawyers on vacation, because they sleep between court session and court session, and so have no perception of how time moves.

ORLANDO

Where do you live, clever youth?

ROSALIND

With this shepherdess, my sister, here in the outskirts of the forest, which is like fringe on a petticoat.

ORLANDO

Were you born in this place?

ROSALIND

I am as much a native here as the rabbit you see, who lives where she is born.

ORLANDO

Your accent is more refined than the one usually acquired in such a remote place.

ROSALIND

Many people have told me this. But actually an old religious uncle of mine taught me how to speak, and he was a city-dweller in his youth—one who knew both courtliness and courtship too well, for he fell in love in the city. I have since heard him read many lectures condemning falling in love. And I thank God that I'm not a woman, to be corrupted by the many faults of giddiness that trouble that entire sex.

ORLANDO

Can you remember any of the greatest evils your uncle ascribed to women?

ROSALIND

There were no greatest ones. They were all as similar as one halfpenny to another, with each fault seeming the most monstrous until the next fault came along to match it. 

ORLANDO

Please, tell me some of them.

ROSALIND

No, I won't give away my medicine except to those who are sick. There is a man haunting this forest who abuses our young trees by carving "Rosalind" in their bark. He hangs odes on the hawthorns and elegies on the brambles, and every single one of those poems—I'm being honest here—worships the name of "Rosalind." If I could meet this man—whose business seems to be advertising love—I would give him some good advice, for he seems to have the constant fever of love upon him.

ORLANDO

I am that man, the one who is so shaken by love. Please tell me about your medicine.

ROSALIND

But you don't have any of the symptoms my uncle described. He taught me how to recognize a man in love, and I am sure that you aren't a prisoner of that flimsy cage.

ORLANDO

What were the symptoms he described?

ROSALIND

A thin face, which you don't have; dark circles under the eyes from sleeplessness, which you don't have; a neglected beard, which you don't have—but I can forgive you for that, since you are young  and barely have a beard anyway. Your stockings should be falling down; your hat missing its band; your sleeves unbuttoned; your shoes untied; and everything about you demonstrating carelessness and anguish. But you are no such man as this. You are perfect in your dress, like someone who loves himself more than anyone else.

ORLANDO

Handsome youth, I wish I could make you believe that I'm in love.

ROSALIND

Make me believe it? You might as well make the one you love believe it, which I suspect she's more likely to do than to admit to doing. That is one of the ways in which women contradict what they know to be true in their hearts. But truly, are you the man who hangs those love poems to Rosalind on the trees?

ORLANDO

I swear to you by Rosalind's fair hand, young man: I am that unfortunate man.

ROSALIND

But are you really as in love as your poems say you are?

ORLANDO

Neither rhyme nor reason can express how in love I am.

ROSALIND

Love is merely insanity, I tell you. And lovers deserve the madhouse just like insane people do. The only reason they don't get the punishment and cure of the madhouse is that this form of insanity is so common that all the doctors have it too. But I claim that it can be cured with counseling.

ORLANDO

Have you ever cured anyone in this way?

ROSALIND

Yes, one, and here's how I did it: I had him imagine me as the woman he loved, and I made him woo me every day. When he did I—being but a fickle youth—would mope; act effeminate; shift my moods; long for him; like him; act proud and distant; be irrational; be foolishly mocking; shallow; inconstant; full of tears; full of smiles; be passionate about everything, and then passionate about nothing—as most young boys and women naturally act. I would like him one minute and hate him the next; accompany him and then send him away; cry for him and then spit at him, until finally I drove out the whim of love and replaced it with the truer state of anger. My suitor then turned away from the flow of life, abandoning the world and hiding himself away as a monk. And so I cured him, and in this way I will cure you too—washing your liver as clean as a healthy sheep's heart, until there isn't a single spot of love left in it.

ORLANDO

I don't want to be cured, youth.

ROSALIND

I could cure you, though, if you would only call me "Rosalind" and come to my cottage every day to woo me.

ORLANDO

By the strength of my love, I will then. Tell me where it is.

ROSALIND

Come with me to it, and I'll show you. Along the way you can tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go with me?

ORLANDO

With all my heart, good youth.

ROSALIND

No, you must call me Rosalind now. 

[To CELIA] Sister, will you come with us?